


Transparent after the rain

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: You Drove Me Wild [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, M/M, Self-indulgent "what if they were stuck in a rainstorm together" character exposition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:26:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1900593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon and Celegorm, caught together in a storm, speak of their siblings</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transparent after the rain

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Прозрачно после дождя](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7357834) by [rio_abajo_rio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rio_abajo_rio/pseuds/rio_abajo_rio)



A drop of rain struck the dirt path, and Findekáno glanced skyward. The dark clouds that had been threatening for the past hour were now gathering in a business-like matter directly above him. 

“Perhaps it won’t get bad until we near Tirion,” he murmured to his horse, but his hopeful words were almost immediately quashed by a loud clap of thunder, and the clouds opening up upon him. 

Drawing up his hood hastily, Findekáno urged his horse on into a trot, pulling his traveling cloak over his bow and quiver, hoping at the very least to keep his bowstring dry. Distracted, he wasn’t expecting the crack of lightning that shattered the tree just ahead of him. 

With a scream, his horse reared, throwing him from its back. Findekáno landed hard, the breath knocked from his lungs and lights popping before his eyes. By the time he’d dragged himself upright, his horse was long gone. 

“Oh, how delightful.” Dragging his arm across his wet face, he scraped the hair out of his eyes and hitched the hood of his cloak up again, for all the good it would do. Seeing no other alternative, and knowing his horse would end up at its home stables one way or the other, he set off down the trail resignedly, already soaked to the skin and giving up on any notion of keeping his bowstring dry. 

“Ho, traveler!”

A voice hailed him, and he looked up to see a similarly soaked rider wrapped in a familiar looking scarlet cloak. The rider cast back his hood, grinning as the rain plastered his fair hair to his head, and Findekáno laughed. 

“Ho, Tyelko.” 

“Looking like a drowned rat, as ever,” said Tyelkormo, drawing level with him. “It suits you, cousin.” 

Findekáno made a rude gesture. “Are you going to sit there making comments on my physical beauty, or are you going to give me a hand, you rogue?” 

Tyelkormo bowed mockingly from the saddle, and held out a gloved hand. “If you will, then, princeling.” 

“Princeling,” snorted Findekáno, letting himself be pulled up behind his cousin. “You are of higher birth than I, Tyelko.” 

“Ah, but I do not drape myself in trinkets,” said Tyelkormo, with a slightly spiteful glance over his shoulder. He reached back and tweaked one of Findekáno’s braids, the gold thread glittering in the next flash of lightning. 

“I know you prefer to array yourself in mud and animal blood,” said Findekáno, unaffected. “I understand, Tyelko. We cannot all be blessed with beauty.” 

Tyelkormo laughed, guiding his horse under some overhanging trees to avoid the worst of the rain. “Oh, sweet Findekáno. We both know that of my many, and great, flaws, ugliness is not one.” 

Findekáno had to admit that this was true. Tyelkormo was not as tall as his eldest brother, but he was broad-shouldered and well-built, his skin tanned brown by the sun and his pale hair bleached almost white. Combined with his surprisingly dark eyes and strong features, Tyelkormo made for a striking figure – though in Findekáno’s personal opinion, he couldn’t hold a candle to Maitimo. Granted, he was rather biased on the subject. 

“Lost in your thoughts about my looks?” Tyelkormo’s voice was teasing.

“Lost in thoughts about a boar I let get away,” retorted Findekáno. “He reminded me rather of you. Hairy, smelly, tusks – it was an uncanny resemblance.” 

“And you let it get away?” Tyelkormo shook his head. “I’ve always said Nolofinwëans were below average hunters.” 

“Don’t let Irissë hear you say that,” said Findekáno, shaking water out of his eyes and grabbing his cousin’s waist as the horse stumbled over a downed tree. 

“Valar forefend,” said Tyelkormo, in mock horror. He looked skyward, blinking against the downpour. “This is only getting worse. I know of an old hunting shelter not so far ahead. We can wait there until the rain abates.” 

“If it abates,” said Findekáno, but he was eager enough to get out of the elements. 

 

Some time later, ensconced in the ancient, musty shelter, he squeezed water from his cloak and looked unhappily at his bow and arrows, noticing some damage from his fall as well as the rain, and wondering it was irreparable. 

Tyelkormo came in from picketing his horse and shook himself like a dog, sending water droplets flying from his hair and clothes. 

Findekáno ducked. “Am I not wet enough already?” he demanded, in feigned outrage, as Tyelkormo sat himself unconcernedly by the long-dead fire circle. 

“I take it you were not originally out here on foot,” he said, as Findekáno pulled off his dripping cloak and hung it from a crude peg. 

“My horse bolted,” said Findekáno, looking down at his soaking clothes and wondering if there was any chance of them drying by the time the rain let up. “She’ll find her way home. Should we attempt a fire?” 

Tyelkormo grunted assent, and fiddled in his belt pouch for a flint. 

In short order, a fire was sparking to life, and Findekáno had pulled off his tunic to hang it by the flames. Tyelkormo eyed him meditatively, then did the same. 

The silence stretched on, and Findekáno was just starting to feel himself start to drift off in the damp warmth when Tyelkormo said, idly, “So. You’re fucking my brother.” 

Findekáno looked up, meeting Tyelkormo’s appraising gaze across the fire. He hesitated a second, wondering at Tyelkormo’s intentions. “Yes.” 

“Mm.” 

“But you know this,” said Findekáno, “having, ah, interrupted us more than once.”

Tyelkormo smirked. “True. I just wanted to see how you would respond, if asked.” 

“Honestly,” said Findekáno. “There is not much point in doing otherwise.” 

Tyelkormo stirred the fire, the sparks spiraling before his strong features and casting dramatic shadows across his face. “I wonder how you would answer if asked by someone else. Someone less sympathetic, say.” 

“Probably the same,” said Findekáno, and it was true. He had never cared much for concealment, and when confronted, generally offered the truth. He knew this sometimes troubled Maitimo, who was far more guarded and wary. 

“ _He_ wouldn’t do so.” Tyelkormo watched him closely. 

“I’ve been less trained in the ways of Fëanorian secrecy and evasion,” said Findekáno, his temper flaring slightly. “What about you, Turcafinwë? I am, as you put it, _fucking_ your brother, yes. And you are – shall we say,  _involved_ with my sister.” 

Tyelkormo smiled, and his dark eyes were unreadable in the light of the fire. “Aye, I am. Look at us.”

Findekáno cocked his head, a crooked smile tugging his lips. “I would tell you not to hurt her, lest I beat you to a bloody pulp, but I have no doubt of her ability to do that herself.” 

Tyelkormo’s smile widened, and the glint of his teeth was predatory. “One of the reasons she is such a fine woman.” 

“Nevertheless,” said Findekáno, mildly. “ _Should_ you hurt her, I will beat you to a bloody pulp once she’s finished with you.”

 Tyelkormo stretched his long legs out in front of him with leonine grace. “I would level similar threats against you, but – ” 

“Maitimo can take care of himself,” said Findekáno. “And,” he added, “I would never hurt him.” He said it like a challenge. 

But Tyelkormo was shaking his head pityingly. “You misunderstand me, cousin. I offer no similar threat against you because I find it much more likely that Nelyo will hurt you, than the other way around.” 

Findekáno felt a stab of familiar fear, and pushed it down, roughly. He glared at Tyelkormo, who met his gaze easily. 

“Do you doubt me?” he asked, and when Findekáno didn’t answer, Tyelkormo laughed and leaned his head back against the wall of the shelter. “Poor Finno,” he murmured, his eyes half shuttered. “My beautiful brother will eat your heart.” 

Findekáno turned away roughly, busying himself with the wet folds of his cloak, trying to ignore the dread that rose in his breast at Tyelkormo’s words, recognizing them for what they were – an echo of all his fears and doubts. 

 _It matters not_ , he thought fiercely, wringing out the corner of his cloak with such violence that the fabric tore under his hands. _It matters not. I will love him even if it destroys me._

“The rain has stopped,” came Tyelkormo’s lazy voice from behind him, and Findekáno ducked out into the dripping world, heedless of his weapons and tunic left behind in the shelter. 

 _I can weather any storm_ , he dared the heavens and Maitimo alike, and raised his face to the light.

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. Totally self-indulgent on my part, and I expect rather pointless. I had a fancy to put Fingon and Celegorm together in a rainstorm and see what happened. This is the result.


End file.
